Dad.
Already, the weight settles in my gut. We haven’t talked in a couple weeks, and I forgot this feeling that floods my system when we do.
“Rory,” he says when I answer. “I’ve been reviewing your recent games.”
My eyes close. All we fucking talk about is hockey.
“I’m coming to a practice,” he says. “I need to see what Ward is putting in your head.”
“No.” Anxiety shoots up my throat. “He runs closed practices. He doesn’t like spectators. He says it’s distracting.”
I don’t know if that’s true, but I’ve never seen someone outside of the organization watching our practices, and I sure as fuck don’t want my dad there taking notes.
He sighs. “Well, I’m coming to the League Classic next week, then.”
I’m looking forward to the game on New Year’s Eve. I booked a super nice suite, because yes, even now, I’m shamelessly trying to impress Hazel. The game is our deadline for this agreement to get back at McKinnon, but it’s gone so much further than that.
She has feelings for me. I know she does. The League Classic weekend will be special, so I don’t want my dad there, telling me all the reasons I’m not good enough.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell him, rubbing the back of my neck.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “What’s going on with you lately?”
Hazel. Hazel’s what’s going on with me. She’s become my entire life, but my dad would never understand that.
“You’re different this season,” he adds, a note of frustration in his voice. “You’re playing differently, you’re acting differently… I don’t know who you are anymore. Where’s the star, Rory?”
He’s long gone, and I’m happy to see him go. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“It’s that girl.”
“Hazel.” That protective feeling rises through me. “Her name is Hazel.”
“You’re distracted.”
“I’m not distracted, Dad.” Am I distracted if I feel like everything I’ve ever wanted is shifting into place? This conversation isn’t going anywhere. “I need to go.”
“Big plans tonight, huh.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me frown. Resentment, or loneliness or something. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”
We say our terse goodbyes and I finish loading the groceries into the car. My mind wanders to the girl waiting at home for me, and the anxiety fades.
My dad’s right—I am different, and it’s because of her. With Hazel by my side, I’m nothing like him. Maybe I never was, and she showed me that.
Footsteps crunch in the snow, and two women walk past, carrying a Christmas tree.
“Merry Christmas,” one of them says with a big smile.
I nod back, staring at the tree. “Merry Christmas.”
On the other end of the parking lot, snow falls on the remaining Christmas trees, and I smile.
Hazel’s missing Christmas with her family, so I’m going to make this one memorable.
CHAPTER 58
HAZEL
While Rory is out, I wander around his apartment, snooping through his closet and bathroom and buying home items for him with the credit card he left for me in the kitchen. With the fireplaces on, his apartment is warm and cozy, but without him here, I feel a weird panging ache in my chest.
I return to his bed, gazing out the window with the neckline of his hoodie pulled over my nose, inhaling him. Outside, snow blankets the city in white.
I wake sometime later to a dim bedroom splashed with warmth from the flickering fire and a muffled thump from the other room. I’m cozy, warm, and sleepy, and Rory’s scent from his hoodie is in my nose, making me sink farther into his bed. I glance at my phone—it’s just after five in the afternoon. The duvet is now on top of me, and a glass of water sits on the nightstand.
“Rory?” I ask, squinting into the light as I crutch down the hall to the living room.
I stop short, jaw dropping.
“How the fuck does that work?” Rory mutters to himself, fiddling with something with his back to me.
I don’t know where to look first. Maybe the plaid wool blanket lying across the back of the couch, or the garland and twinkle lights strewn across the fireplace mantel above the fire. On Rory’s oversized TV, the fireplace channel is also on, which is so weird and so Rory.
A dozen candles sit in stained glass votives on the coffee table and around the kitchen, and Rory’s wearing a hideous green and red knit sweater that he somehow manages to make look hot. There are poinsettias everywhere. The entire place smells like the hot apple cider drink my family makes every year at home, and there are pine needles all over the floor.
Between the bookshelf and the window, an enormous fir tree stretches to the ceiling.
When he turns, there’s that assessing, cautious expression on Rory’s face again, the look that makes my heart beat faster.
“You bought ten poinsettias and you’re wearing an ugly Christmas sweater.”
He grins, tilting his chin to a bag near my feet. “Got you a matching one.” He walks over, and yeah, he does look really, really hot in that stupid sweater. “You didn’t think I was going to wear it alone, did you, Hartley?” His eyes glitter as his grin hitches higher. “We have to match.”
“You bought a tree.” My voice sounds funny, thin and breathless. “It looks like Christmas threw up in here.”
“Is that a good thing?”
I sigh, taking it all in, glancing over at the kitchen, breathing in the familiar, sweet cinnamon smell filling the apartment. “That’s the same recipe we make at home, isn’t it?”
“Mhm.” His eyes are warm. “I called your parents earlier.”
That girl from a few months ago, who hated Rory Miller? She shakes her head and walks away because I’m way too far gone to help.
Christmas decorations. He bought decorations. All of them, from the pile of boxes in the corner. My heart explodes into a million pieces all over the floor.
“Why?” I ask, blinking away the sting in my eyes.
He steps behind me, looping his arm around my waist and pressing a warm kiss to the side of my neck. “Because you wanted it, Hartley.”
If my heart is a house, Rory now lives there.
CHAPTER 59
RORY
I’m in love with her.
Hazel’s eyes are bright as she takes in the living room again, smiling, and a warm pulse of happiness radiates through my chest.
I’m in love with her, and I’d do anything to make her happy. And this look of elation on her face as she smiles up at me—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
“Thank you,” she says, resting her palms on my chest. “This is amazing, Rory.” She presses her lips together, gaze lingering on the tree. “You just—”
Our eyes meet, and her full mouth tips up into a pretty smile. I think maybe I’ve always loved her, because this feeling in my chest isn’t new. I just have a name for it now.